


Lotus Eaters

by izzbelle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Illegal Activities, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smoking, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 05:37:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11753154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzbelle/pseuds/izzbelle
Summary: Dean and Cas. Urban vibes. Drugs. Teenage debauchery. DRUGS. Parties. Dranks. Fucked up poverty stricken SHIT.Dean Winchester makes council housing history everyday. Stealing, trading, dealing and falsifying information needs to be done to take care of Sammy. So if he ends up enjoying some of the stints, he figures he deserves a little fun for all the time he's done in the back of a police car, for having good intentions. After John fucked off to nowhere, his friends have become his family and he takes care of his family, goddammit.This is more of a vibe than a description so go for a Mura Masa Love$ick music video mindset.





	Lotus Eaters

**Author's Note:**

> I have a playlist for this shit so go check it out because the songs are wavy
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/21s4sxpcwq4ivcthlzqmkrfdq/playlist/5A82VbTuPuzhcjLSVLw3M7

Dean, Charlie, Jo and Cas leant over the railing of the apartment block, looking into the view of the grey car park, hazy in the dull light. A drizzle had started up and as Dean glanced to his right he could see drops already gathering in Cas’ dark eyelashes, stark against his bright eyes. He glanced away as the sodden wood bent with all their weight and the voice of a hysterical Spanish soap opera actress drifted onto shared porch. The grimy floor caked to high heaven with dirt and dust and unmentionables dug into their knees and gripped onto their pants like sandpaper. If you listened real close, sometimes Dean thought he could hear the old complex sigh with the weight of so many unpaid bills. The teens that lived in the apartment were far and few, but those who did banded together to fight the incurable disease of boredom. 

Dean and Sam spent too many days sitting in their cramped yellow room, counting the new water stains in the ceiling as they appeared, John out either drinking or getting fired. Some psycho at the gas station held up mom and dad one night on the way home from work. The reports say he pointed a gun at Mary and John freaked so bullets flew but some flew in the wrong direction and hit a gas tank. The whole place went up in flames and John was knocked unconscious by a piece of the ceiling. Mary got caught under something too but didn’t make it out but Dean was pretty sure John, the dad that they knew, never made it out either. Mary died too young for him to miss her actual person, but sometimes his chest goes all hollow and achy when he thinks about what he and Sam might have had carved out for themselves differently in that life. 

So Jo and Ash lived with their parents Bobby and Ellen, who ran a rundown bar farther into the city. Bobby and John went back apparently, but Dean met their daughter the night she got kicked out of her house for hotboxing in the shower with her girlfriend Charlie, and promptly invited them to instead hotbox in his dad’s car. True friendship was always forged in the haze of illegal substances anyway. He found Ash high out of his mind sitting cross-legged on the top of the Impala barefoot later that week, actually, and the four just fit together. Bobby and Ellen took him and Sammy in after they showed up continuously hungry at their place, flinching every time someone raised their voice. Bobby just looked the two over and nodded, “Well, yer definitely John’s kids. Sit down and eat yer dinner boys,” So basically aunt Ellen and uncle Bobby were the shit. 

Castiel showed up not too long after. The Russian didn’t live in the apartment complex but his older brother, Gabriel Novak, did. Gabriel was a mid level dealer who he was pretty sure snorted more of his shit than he sold. He was surprised half the man’s teeth weren’t missing from the abnormal diet of gummy bears and Twix he held, and the man was little shit most of the time, but he was kinder than Cas’ parents were to the boy, if the softening of the hard slope of Cas’ mouth was anything to go by when the two talked. This automatically put him in Dean’s good books, because fuck anyone who thought they could walk all over Cas. Seriously, it was unfair; cause Cas was smart as fuck with his bilingual thing going on and seemingly infinite knowledge on anything nature documentary related. He was also a hell of a lot more responsible then most kids his age and Dean knows that because his snot nosed brother wouldn’t have liked him so much if he wasn’t. That’s the other thing, cause Sammy’s a bleeding heart, but he’s pretty sure the kid wouldn’t ask Cas to help him so much with homework if he was just humouring the other kid. Dean still remembers the look on Cas’ face when he walked in on him and Gabe halfway through their lines, expression completely unsurprised and shoulders heavy with an unsighed, sigh. He also remembers his veins humming, his chest light with euphoria from the white powder when he noticed just how blue the other boy’s eyes were. They were electric next to the dirty white walls and dark sky outside the small window and for a moment, the stale air was alive. The Novak’s immigrant family were some freaky old world Russian religion that required an abnormal amount of time in church repenting for sins (not committed, in Dean’s book). It seemed to push their 6 children to corrupt lives so when “fuck it” began to be Cas’ favourite American phrase even Gabriel was surprised.

He snapped out of his thoughts as a small motor hummed, coming towards the crew with increasing clarity. A beat up white bike turned the street corner, a large box strapped to its back, in huge Italian flag coloured letters it read: pizza. Dean jostled to get up and met the three other sets of eyes. Charlie and Jo had matching glints their eyes. The kind they always got then the crew was about to make council-housing history. Cas as per usual had a furrow in his brow, lips pushed out in a slight pout that Dean couldn’t stop his eyes from settling on for a moment too long. It was a look he got often though, and hated it the more often it was used. Cas didn’t like the cheap tricks Dean made it his business to cover himself and his friends with, but he followed along just as well. His dedication to the Winchester’s plots was as steadfast as the gaze he locked on Dean when he thought the other boy wasn’t watching. Dean tried not to think about that one too much. 

“Not for nothing, Cas, but the last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid,” He waggled his eyebrows as Cas rolled his eyes and huffed a bit more. Distantly, he heard the click of the bike’s stand being put up, the engine left on as the man gathered the delivery; he smirked, “Go time.” 

Before he could slip into the narrow, dark stairs that lead to the parking lot below, a firm grip took his hand. He looked behind him to lock eyes with Cas. John’s voice rang clear in his head, one of the more meaningful drunken rants punctuated by the thick smell of cheap gin; boys don’t like other boys. Dean still gagged every time he caught the sharp smell. He shook off the thought and flashed the other boy a weak smile. Cas was looking at him with narrowed eyes that held too many years to belong to a 17 year old (which Dean personally chalked up to early drug abuse, courtesy of Gabe). 

“I am coming with you,” Cas growled, holding his gaze. 

A halfhearted protest died in Dean’s throat when the dark haired boy slipped his hand from Dean’s, letting his fingers trail lightly over his palm. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before nodding stupidly. 

“Sure Cas,” He left the, ‘anything for you Cas’, bit out. He did however grab the other boy’s hand back. It’s called moral support. 

The pair sprinted the four flights, all gangly limbs and laughable concentration, bursting out of parking lot door going straight for the motorbike. Dropping Cas’ hand, he pulled his black hoody over his head, nodding curtly as his action was mirrored by the other teen. Dodging knocked up Ford fiestas and dented Buicks, Dean looked up to see Charlie waving frantically at him. The pizza man was coming back down. In one smooth motion they vaulted onto the bike, Dean at the front, while Cas kicked the stand over from behind. Dean revved the thing, praying the piece of crap wouldn’t blow out. It nearly took off without either of them as it shot forward, but he made sure to dig his thighs into ripped upholstery. While Dean gripped the handlebars, Cas gripped Dean. Cas was a hard line of heat through Dean’s sweatshirt in the cool September air as he rounded the first street corner. Dean felt Cas’ laugh vibrate through him as he let out a victory shout, something bright curling in tight coils in his chest. After the fourth turn, he felt Cas’ chin rest on his shoulder, the warm puff of air and brush of his lips sending a shiver down his back. 

“You are a very good thief, Dean Winchester”

He cleared his throat loudly, “Not too bad yourself, Cas. I’m proud.”

Dean could almost feel the frown creasing the boy’s brow through his back, “I don’t know whether to be offended or complimented,”

“Maybe a lil’ bit of both,” 

With the meeting point just a little further Dean sped up, letting himself enjoy the feeling of Cas tightening his grip around his waist, just for a brief time.

He met Charlie and Jo in an alleyway about 2 miles later. Getting off the bike, everything’s fine until Sam’s shaggy 14-year-old head pops up behind the ginger and a tense feeling works its way into Dean’s back. 

He sets a hard look on an embarrassed looking Sam, then on an even more embarrassed looking Charlie. 

“Why are you here? Why is he here?” 

He looks to Charlie. Charlie shuffles her feet guiltily before opening her mouth and catching Dean’s eyes. No answer. 

A hand grips his shoulder, “Let’s get this done and talk about it later,” He turns around to see Jo looking a whole lot of serious, “The pizza guy called the cops, we need to hurry.” Dean’s shoulders sag as he sighs a long breath out,

“Okay let’s get the show on the road,” He turns to Sammy, “We aren’t done here,” Sam mumbles something about what he can do to help. 

That is how they ended up working for three hours scrubbing and painting the thing until it looked new. They burnt the paintbrushes and sandpaper in the metal pizza box that they removed with a crowbar. By the time it is all over Deans laughing, almost in tears at Jo’s impression of the pizza man when the Cas glances at the time on his phone, his eyes widening a fraction. He curses something fast in Russian, the words deep and rough enough for it to become harder for Dean to swallow. 

“I have to go or I fear Jimmy will ‘flip his shit’ and I will be living with Gabriel and his cockroaches,” The endearing way his lips work around the syllables, unsure, almost makes Dean forgive him. Almost. 

“Wait a second there buddy, you still coming to Lisa’s tonight? His stomach does his weird flip thing when he thinks of how much he wants the other boy there, waved and laughing his gummy smile. 

“We were going to take mandy tonight, Cas,” Jo whines. Her hands are on her hips in a pose that reminds Dean too much of Ellen to not be intimidated. 

Sam butts his dork head into the mix; “Dean’s letting me go with you to Lisa’s tonight,” 

To the kid’s credit, his puppy dog eyes might just be the trick they need to get the answer they want out of the dark haired boy. Dean knows the kid has grown up with shit all around him, but that sure as hell doesn’t mean he needs to be part of it, especially with the shit he pulled today. Dean’s a big fat hypocrite, but even if he’s the one to fuck up and get arrested a couple times for pawning stolen bikes and such for food money, at least Sammy’s got dinner on the table, a clean record, and a bright future. Sammy is probably the only person Dean would admit to actively caring about, and he pretty much brags about the kid’s brain at every chance he gets. He’ll do something fucking great with it one day, but Dean’s not completely a vegetable yet But Sam’s 14 now, and Dean knows with the school they go to, the place they live, the everything, the kid’s going to get into contact with stoners or drunks or crazies soon, so might as well have his big brother there to take care of him. He’s a pretty straight cut kid, but that doesn’t mean Dean is going to let him be naïve. So he shrugs, letting the kid’s eyes do their magic on Cas. 

The Russian takes a moment then nods, looking at Dean, “I will text you,”

This is how he leaves it until seven hours later when Dean is four keyed pills and seven beers into the night. Apparently Cas found Jo before he found Dean, because his eyes are hooded over with stupor and an easy smile fits over his usually tight lips; ecstasy. Dean had been in the cramped apartment’s kitchen, chatting with a small group of Lisa’s friends until they vacated to grind in the living room. Dean didn’t dance, not even for a price, so that’s where Cas found him, sitting on the cool linoleum floor, letting the bass vibrations from the room adjacent wash over him and tracking the movement of the sluggish ceiling fan. Sam’s laughter floats into his ears once in a while cause the last he saw of him Charlie and some girl Jessica were swinging him around next to the speakers, bodies slotted together, shoulders rolling and hips circling to the heavy beat. Someone had lit up a joint because the entire house smelled thick and sweet. 

“Hello, Dean. I found you.” 

He sounded ridiculously proud of the small feat, as he lowered himself to lean against the thin cabinet wood, next to the other boy. Cas turned to look at him, in what would be a slightly creepy look if it didn’t come from a familiar set of eyes, and Dean could feel the look hot on his face as if Cas was trying to will him to turn. He gave in and twisted to say something to Cas but holy shit was that a mistake because they were way to close and- blue. Blue like the endless expanse he almost fell into, climbing a crane for a dare one summer. Frustratingly blue, because when the hell did Dean start obsessing over other guy’s eyes. See, the thing about MDMA that Dean would try to justify to himself in the next morning is that it makes everything feel like bliss, like everything is a thousand times more enjoyable than it is. Music sounds like a siren call, the press of lips feels like fireworks, and looking into Cas’ eyes and glancing down at pink chapped lips felt like he was flying. Hundreds of miles above his fucked up apartment, fucked up father, fucked up life, his heart pounding on his chest as he realized he was holding his breath. 

Dean breathed out. Cas breathed in.

Dean stopped himself from leaning in closer, “You came,” A question on the tip of his tongue about Cas’ parents when the other boy interrupted him in a matter-of-factly tone.

“I always come when you call.” 

See, the thing about Cas was that he wasn’t Dean’s normal type. Cas was kind of strange, a little socially awkward; something about a cultural difference was an idea Sammy shot around. He was fast thinking and clever where Dean was slow. He was thoughtful where Dean was brash and kind at unsuspecting times where Dean was gruff. But he was striking something in Dean he didn’t even know could be struck. Cas said things in that rough accent of his, things that held meanings of universal proportions. They held implications of things he couldn’t even try to unpick if he put effort into it (the countless hours during sticky summer nights where he couldn’t sleep didn’t count). Dean was left in a surprised silence, something in his chest coiling tight, looking like the idiot he was, not finding even a word. Cas closed the small distance between them and for a brief second of drug-fuelled anticipation, Dean thought he was going to kiss him. Dean wanted Cas to kiss him. 

He could imagine Cas tentatively pressing his lips against him, turning his head to slot his mouth against Dean’s lolled head. Dean would move first, coaxing Cas to deepen the kiss with light pressure, which the other boy would melt into, the press of his chapped lips surprisingly soft. He would thread his hands into dark, already fucked hair and Cas would jolt when Dean traced the seam of their sealed lips with his tongue. The other boy would part his though, closing his eyes in a flash of blue, licking back into the wet heat, tracing the roof of Dean’s mouth and Dean would snag his bottom lip with his teeth, tugging lightly, dragging a needy noise from the boy. Dean would pull back, finding Cas looking at him hair fucked five different ways, lips glistening and he’d pointedly ignore how his heart jumps into his throat. Surging back together in a clash of tongues, their teeth would clack with urgency and fuck Dean hasn’t been this hard from kissing in years so he’d pull Cas by his stupidly sharp hips onto his lap and let him grind down swallowing the noises Cas would make until he would throw his head back, Dean latching onto his neck, whispering soft praises between mouthing and sucking and biting and- Dean snaps to attention, Cas staring at him with a worried expression. Dean’s pushing at his zipper painfully from his little tangent and can only pray the other boy doesn’t notice. 

His mouth tastes like gin. 

The dark haired teenager seems oblivious his best friend just imagined dry humping him into the kitchen floor and shoves himself closer to Dean, dropping his head to rest on Dean’s shoulder as the drum in Dean’s chest slows. 

They both sigh.


End file.
